JUST PUCKER UP AND BLOW
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: A Wee!Chester oneshot. Pure fluff. Sammy begs Dean to teach him how to blow bubbles. Sam is 5, Dean is 9. Reviews are love.


Disclaimer: The characters from Supernatural obviously don't belong to me. Kripke has that particular pleasure.

Just a little bit of Wee!Chester fluff. Because I just could not get this out of my head. So I decided--what the heck, I'll go ahead and write it.

**JUST PUCKER UP AND BLOW**

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Five-year-old Sam Winchester tugged on the frayed hem of his big brother's black t-shirt. "Dean, can you teached me how to do that?"

"Do what, squirt?"

"That—what you're doing right now!" Sammy curled his bare toes on the concrete, relishing the cool spot of shade.

"Oh. You mean blowing bubbles?"

"Yeah, that! I wanna blow BIG ones just like you!"

"Uhhh, I dunno, dude—Dad said you're not allowed to have gum 'cause of what happened—you know—before."

This edict had come down after a disastrous incident when Sammy had gotten a humongous wad of pink bubblegum stuck in his chestnut curls. Their dad had tried a bunch of different, and messy, remedies to extract it—peanut butter, mayonnaise, ice—but all they had done was make Sam whine and fidget. None of it had worked. In the end, Dad been forced to cut it out, leaving his little brother with a good-sized bald patch on his head. Dean had teased Sam about it for days until his Dad had threatened to give him a matching bald spot just on principle alone. Knowing the oldest Winchester wasn't even remotely kidding, Dean had immediately zipped his lip as ordered and never spoke of it again.

It was then that Dad had banned gum for the both of them. The only reason he was in possession of a pack now was because he'd earned a couple of bucks from Mrs. Jackson, the motel owner, and he'd begged Dad to let him buy it. He'd bought Sam a pack of strawberry Twizzlers. The other dollar he tucked away for an emergency.

"Ahh, c'mon, Dee! That was a long time ago when I was a baby. I'm notta baby anymore."

Dean snorted. It had been just a year ago.

"Pleeeease, Deannnn?" Sam's limpid hazel gaze locked on his brother.

Unable to resist that look, as usual, the older Winchester brother caved. "Oh, all right! Geez. Let's sit down on the step."

Both boys settled on the tiny concrete stoop in front of their motel room door. The concrete was hot from the sun and the heat seeped its way through their cut-off jeans causing both of them to squirm for a minute or two. Dean peeled the paper foil packaging away from the next piece of gum in the pack of Gonzo Grape Bubblicious gum. He handed the wrapped piece to his little brother.

"Here. Take the paper off and put it in your mouth."

Sam pulled off the thin waxed-paper wrapping and popped the treat into his mouth.

"Now chew it real good. Get it nice and soft." Dean watched in amusement as his younger sibling scrunched his face up and chewed the heck out of the piece of gum. He waited a few minutes and then said, "Okay. Now push the gum against the top of your mouth with your tongue."

Faced still scrunched in concentration, Sam did as instructed.

"Move it to the front like this and push your tongue in the middle." Seeing a frown of confusion settle on Sam's face, Dean demonstrated what he meant, plucking the gum from his mouth and holding it between two fingers so Sam could see. Once his brother had his gum in position, the older Winchester said, "Now blow."

Sam blew—much harder than he needed to—and the wad of gum flew out of his mouth, landing in the dirt with a small plop. It kicked up a little puff of dust when it landed.

"Deeeeeean!" Sammy looked at the ground in utter dismay. A few ants were already swarming around the purple lump. The little boy's eyes filled with tears.

"Hey! It's okay, squirt. I've got more." Dean wiggled the hand holding the pack of gum. He extracted another piece and handed it over. "Now this time, don't blow so hard."

A few minutes later another piece joined the first. A third piece was placed in the smaller boy's hand.

This time Dean watched closely. Just before Sam was ready to blow into the indentation left by his tongue, Dean said, "Tighten your lips, dude. Tighten your lips." He smiled as he watched his little brother pucker his lips—rather fiercely—around the purple substance. "Now blow—real slowly."

Seconds later, a small lavender bubble appeared in front of Sam's. His hazel eyes rounded, and he opened his mouth, hollering, "Dean!" The now-unanchored gum tumbled from mouth and landed on top of his big toe. Sam's gaze dropped. "Oops."

Seconds later, a new piece appeared under his downcast eyes. He brushed the used piece off of his foot and reached for the new one. Looking at Dean, wide hazel eyes awash with complete excitement, Sam bounced up and down where he sat. "I did it! I did it! Did ya see, Dee? Did ya see?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but a big grin was plastered across his face. He blew a big bubble with his piece of gum and let it pop before replying, "Yeah, pipsqueak, I saw. Now try again. No talking this time, okay? That's my last piece."

Sam went through all the motions again and soon had another little bubble form. He watched his big brother blowing his own bubbles, watched them pop then watched as Dean sucked the spent gum back into his mouth. The five-year-old began to practice in earnest, catching on to the whole process rather quickly after that.

For the next ten minutes or so, the two Winchester boys sat on the concrete stoop blowing bigger and bigger bubbles. Every time Dean blew a big one, Sammy's poked it with his index finger, his giggles floating joyously across the courtyard.

Unable to stop himself, Dean laughed too. "Your just doin' that 'cause they're still bigger than yours."

"I bet I can make one way bigger than yours."

"You're on, runt." Dean watched as Sammy set about the task. Once the little boy got a pretty good sphere going, the older boy started blowing one of his own—already sure of victory. His bubble grew to enormous proportions before an errant puff tore a whole in its side and it deflated like a spent balloon. Sucking the gum back in his mouth, he looked over at Sam. His eyes grew wide. "Uhhh, Sammy? Sammy, I think you might wanna stop blowin'. It's gonna p—"

_POP!_

Sammy gasped and let out a wail. "Dee! Dee, I can't see!"

_Uh oh._ Dean looked at his little brother in dismay. Sticky purple gum covered ever inch of his face—from past his forehead to his chin. "Hang on, Sammy." He began to peel away the residue, stripping most of the sticky mess off Sam's face except for tiny sticky spots here and there. Unfortunately, it was still in his eyelashes, his eyebrows, and—yes—in his hair. Grabbing Sam's hand, he stood and pulled his brother to his feet after him.

"C'mon—we better try and get you cleaned up before Dad comes back."

Sniffling, Sam murmured, "You're not gonna cut my hair, are ya?"

Dean fished the key to their motel room out of his front jean pocket. "Nah, kiddo. It's not that bad. I promise." He crossed his fingers behind his back.

"Good! I didn't like havin' a bald spot."

The nine-year-old laughed. "Geez, no kidding! I remember the hissy fit you threw. That just made Dad madder." He pulled Sammy through the door and urged him toward the bathroom. "Hey, Sammy?"

"What?"

"I think we better stick to strawberry Twizzlers for awhile, 'kay?"

Sam sighed with all the defeated drama a five year old could muster. "Yeah. I think that's a goooood idea, Dee."

_**FINI**_


End file.
